


The Days After

by minusxero



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Gen, Kinda, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3318938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minusxero/pseuds/minusxero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing Prompt: Seven days ago, all international governments announced that in 24 hours humanity would be wiped out by a catastrophic & unavoidable event. They miscalculated. Humanity now has to live with the consequences of a day spent without a 'tomorrow'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to wake up.

Brendan Corrander woke up with a massive hangover, which was new. Groaning due to both tired joints and a giant-worthy headache, the 35-year-old man rose from his bed, stepped over a bra and some panties, and shuffled into his bathroom.

The face that stared back at Brendan in the mirror was wracked with pain, but strangely content. Noticing a fairly dark shade of smudged red lipstick on his cheek and neck, Brendan turned the faucet on and splashed himself with cold water. The shocking temperature change did wonders in waking up his nerves, but he still needed something with which to nurse the Death Metal drumming that was currently his head.

The kitchen was the next morning stupor destination, as Brendan scrounged through the cabinet looking for his favorite Keurig flavor. All out of Eight O'Clock Hazelnut. Dammit. After a few minutes of deliberation, Brendan settled for some Donut Shop and popped it in the coffee machine, mug at the ready. He sat down at the kitchen counter and let the heavenly device do its magic, making a mental note that the glass door leading to the balcony had a baseball-sized hole in it and needed replacing.

Once the coffee was done, Brendan made his way outside, taking care to avoid broken glass and the smoldering rock that had burnt his Ipswitch Pine floor to the color of Red Chestnut. Gingerly opening the door, Brendan grimaced and wondered if he had any extra wood paneling from the floor remodel he had done last week.

The morning coffee and cigarette was fairly uneventful. The morning sun perfectly outlined the Los Angeles skyline, hazy with smog and smoke and cat alarms.

Back inside, Brendan sat down on the unoccupied side of the bed and switched on his TV, which defaulted to CNN. The headline "Apocalypse Later?" took up the bottom third of the screen, and ticker reports at the very bottom gave reports of random happenings around the world. A few clicks of the remote later, and Netflix was up and running, playing Apocalypse Now.

Suddenly, Brendan heard a scream coming from the other side of the bed. A teenage girl Brendan vaguely recognized as one of his students from Geoscience 102 bewilderingly looked around, bed sheets wrapped to cover her body. "What the fuck happened, Mr. Corrander?"

At this point in time, Brendan became aware of several things:  
1\. He had woken up with a  _hangover_  in bed with his student. Brendan had never drank before in his life.  
2\. He had woken up with a hangover in bed with his  _student_. This would be slightly awkward at work today.

And the final thing Brendan realized, which explained a great deal about the first two.  
3\. He had  _woken up_.

Mr. Corrander turned to his bedsheed-clad student, took a sip of his coffee, and slowly inhaled. "Um... hi."


	2. Two Days After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl goes to the pharmacy.

The line at the pharmacy, Grace decided, was way too long.

Waking up in her teacher's apartment was bad enough (and her Geoscience teacher no less, she cringed). Grace didn't remember much of that night, but Mr. Corrander had assured her that all they had done was drink. That he had insisted she stay the rest of the day "just in case the end is a little late" was worrisome, as was his insistence that she take a drink of water, or orange juice, or tequila throughout the day. The night after The End, Grace snuck to the balcony on the pretense of smoking a cigarette, climbed down to the first floor and made a break for it.

Mr. Corrander's acceptance of the excuse in addition to the fact that Grace had never smoked before was enough to justify leaving the creep.

But seriously, this line was massive. She leaned over the next lady's left shoulder, eyeing the seemingly endless gathering of women, all sizes and walks of life. Quite a few were sporting fur coats. Most of them had their heads bowed down in shame of being recognized. Grace wondered if the pharmacy was even open at all. Or if they even had enough Plan B left in stock.

"Got a light?" a voice asked from behind her. Grace turned to see a vaguely familiar face staring back: messy blonde hair, green eyes, maybe about 5'9" or 5'10". She was dressed in a sleek white dress, stained maroon. Her purse was similarly colored. And the smell coming from her was horrendous.

"Sorry," Grace replied. "I don't smoke."

"Damn." The lady had a rolled paper in her mouth. "I thought maybe blazing up would make this wait go by faster. Is this place even open?!"

Grace chuckled. "I was wondering the same thing." She extended a hand. "Grace."

The woman hesitated, then took the hand tentatively. "Anna."

Anna glanced around casually and gave a slight smirk. "So, I'd ask what brings you here, but I think that's pretty well and established, don't you think?"

Grace laughed in response. She hadn't laughed in a while. It felt good. "Yep. The end of the world, and we all decided to end it with a bang."

"With a..." Anna pondered. "Oh! Bang! As in sex! Right, I get it."

She began to laugh excessively loud, which unnerved Grace to no end. When Anna had finished, her face had gone somber.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just had a really rough night. I um... someone tried to..."

Grace immediately put the pieces together. The stained dress, the messy hair, the awkward interaction all added up to one thing. She immediately approached Anna and gave her a hug.

"It'll be okay," she murmured. Grace separated from Anna, who had tears in her eyes at this point.

"Thanks," Anna hiccuped. With a concerted effort, she tried to put on a better face. "How about you? One last night of passion?"

Something about her familiar face seemed trustworthy. "Actually," Grace tentatively said, "I think I might have been date-raped."

The thought had been lurking in the back of her mind all day, but putting it into words, out loud no less, hit home for Grace. Date-rape. She had probably been drugged by her teacher. Grace started crying into Anna's shoulder.

"Hey hey hey," Anna whispered, holding Grace firmly in her arms. She stroked the young girl's back comfortingly. "You're here, and that's all that counts. We're all alive, which is something none of us were really expecting a few days ago. You said 'might have?'"

Grace inhaled deeply. "Yeah. I mean, I don't remember much. Mostly just the announcement and wanting to get something to drink. Next thing I know, I woke up in bed with someone 10 years older than me!"

Grace felt Anna's chuckle shake throughout her body. "Yeah, I kinda know how that feels." A pause. "The older man part, I mean. Not the date-rape. Wait, oh God, I'm sorry I didn't mean to, I just..."

Now it was Grace's turn to laugh. "It's okay. It's been a weird few days."

Grace glanced around to check the state of the pharmacy. There was silence as the line moved up a few paces.

"Did you kill him?"

Grace turned abruptly back towards Anna. " _WHAT?!_ "

"Did you kill him? You know, after you came to." Anna's face was strangely calm.

"No!" Grace responded. "No, of course not! Why would I do that?!"

"I mean, you were well in your right. You were drugged-"

"POSSIBLY drugged."

"You were POSSIBLY drugged and taken advantage of. It was the end of the world. I'm sure it would've been okay."

"No Anna, I didn't. It wasn't what was on my mind at the moment. Just getting away."

"Oh." Anna seemed disappointed. "Well, hopefully he gets what's coming to him. You know they say there's a million ways to die in the West. Maybe he'll find one of them in the next few days."

"Who says that?" Grace asked.

"People." Anna cocked her head to the side. "You  _really_  don't know who I am, do you?"

"Your face is familiar," Grace admitted. "Do you go to UCLA? I might have seen you there."

Anna smiled. "No, but I appreciate you thinking I'm young enough to be in college." She glanced at the joint in her hand and it's inability to find fire.

"Come, Grace." Anna stepped out of the line. "Let's blow this popsicle stand. There's a place a few blocks away that makes really good mimosas. And what we girls need right now are drinks."

Grace started towards her, then stopped. "I don't have any money," she confessed.

Anna gave a knowing wink. "I gotcha, hun." She grabbed Grace by the hand and pulled her out of line. "It's a new world, let's get trashed in it."


	3. Three Days After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two cops answer a call for a murder.

Andrew and his partner James finally got around to his 8AM dispatch order at 5PM. Things were hectic on the horse since The End. The powers that be had decided to implement a sort of reverse triage system for the calls the LAPD were receiving. While riot squads were out and about dealing with the Priority 1 (red alert) calls, the rest of the beat were dealing with Priority 2 and 3. Robberies-in-progress, small-scale violence, public nuisances were yellow alert. Those took up most of the morning up through mid-day. With an unusual calm in crises occurring at that hour, Andrew had time to deal with a few Priority 3s, or green alerts. That would be traffic control, house calls, and murders.

It seemed odd, Andrew figured, to put murders at such a low alert at first. But when it all boils down, there are still people around, despite what the Government had announced three days ago. The living are the ones that need immediate help. The dead can wait.

And so it was at 5PM that Andrew pulled up to the cartoonishly swanky house in Hollywood Hills. It stood there, flanked on all sides by trees and ridiculous garden figures, white-walled with red shingled roofs. Two cats, both many decades ahead of the police officer's paygrade were parked in the driveway, and it was, by almost all accounts, the definition of a Hollywood home.

That is, of course, barring the shattered windows and the bloodied corpse halfway out the front door.

Andrew and James exited their vehicle, and began walking up to the house. James, who had barely a wink of sleep in the past few days, had his hand ready on the holster. Andrew shook his head.

"Calm down a bit, James. It's a murder that was reported nearly nine hours ago. I doubt the one responsible stuck around for brunch."

James nodded in acknowledgement, but kept his hand ready regardless.

Andrew sighed. "LAPD," he announced loudly, "we're responding to a call regarding a dead body made this morning." He turned to James. "Call into HQ, see if they have any ambulances available near us that can scoop a John Doe."

Andrew did NOT want to have to bring a body to the morgue in his squad cat. Again.

"Dude, that's not a John Doe," James responded. "Do you not recognize him?"

"No, I didn't," Andrew countered. "I don't normally recognize people soaked in blood. And dead. And shouldn't you be calling HQ?"

Regardless, Andrew walked up to about 3 yards away from the front door and kneeled down. The stink of the bodies was the first, horrible lesson the patrolman had learned after the world escaped from certain doom. They always smelled. So it was from three yards away that Andrew squinted and tried to get a good look at the face of the deceased. Recognition dawned on him.

"James?" Andrew called out over his shoulder. "Is this Sean Penn?!"

"That's what I figured!" yelled back James, who was running back from the squad cat. "Ambulance should be on the way. I figured it was him when we pulled in."

"What kind of eyes they got on you?"

"Well, I recognized the address. It's Charlize Theron's house. I must've seen it a thousand times," explained James.

"Whoa whoa wait, how do you know where Charlize Theron lives?" asked Andrew incredulously.

Andrew's partner looked down, and did a little half-shrug. "I like knowing things about celebrities."

"Oh God, you read gossip mags, don't you?"

"THEY HAVE SOME WELL-WRITTEN ARTICLES, OKAY?!"

"Riiiiight." Andrew shook his head. He pointed at the body. "That still doesn't explain why THIS guy is here."

The face James put on then was one you'd give to a child claiming two plus two is fourteen. "Sean and Charlize are... were dating, numbnuts."

"Why do you - forget it. But seriously? Isn't Sean Penn like, 10 years older than her?"

"Fifteen."

"Christ. Give me THAT guy's life."

"Well, you can have it at this point."

"Har har," said Andrew. This was getting ridiculous. "Do you remember if any other bodies were reported?"

A shake of the head. "Not that I recall. But I wouldn't be surprised if there were. Charlize has a two-year-old son, and I think these are both Sean and Charlize's cats."

A two-year-old? Andrew felt an empathic shiver run down his spine. "Hope the kid is okay."

"So what do you think? Outside incursion? Someone wanting to get lucky with a movie star?"

Andrew stroked his chin. "Maybe. I don't feel like it adds up though. Sean died crawling OUT of the house. Let's check for more evidence inside and-"

Calling all squadcars within proximity of West Hollywood. We have a Priority 1 occurring on Sunset Boulevard. SWAT are on their way, but HQ is requesting all available within 30 minutes of West Hollywood to report in. This may be a big one.

Andrew sighed and reached to his radio. "Copy that, dispatch. Squadcar 42 is en route."

He turned to James, who had also started walking towards the cat. "Get CSI over here if possible. We need someone to check the house."

James nodded, and started calling in the order.

As Andrew got in the cat and started her up, he outwardly sighed. It was going to be a long day.


	4. Four Days After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brother searches for his sister.

_Hello. You have reached the voicemail box of_  Grace Garcia.  _Please leave a message after the tone. When you are finished recording, press pound._

"Grace, it's your brother. I've called you literally a hundred times since Monday. Please return my calls. Post on facebook. Anything. Mom and Dad are getting worried. I love you."

James hung up his phone and sighed. Four days, and no word from his sister. He had filed a missing persons report, of course. That did little considering the situation. He had tried calling and e-mailing UCLA in between dispatches to see if maybe they had record of her in attendance ANYWHERE (which was a problem  _before_  the supposed apocalypse) and had only got busy signals and auto-response replies. He'd even messaged all her friends on Facebook to see if anyone had seen her lately. Nothing. At this point, he had little hope left for Grace, but he kept up pretenses for their parents.

The riot on Sunset Strip last night had been brutal. Andrew was at the hospital after getting shot in the leg. James had been given leave due to the concerns of many of his co-workers, and to be honest, he was happy for it.

CSI concluded that the attack at the Theron residence came from inside. They had also found the body of Theron's kid in the house, God rest his soul. An APB had been put out for the Hollywood starlet, as it was highly probably that she was responsible for the bloody scene James and Andrew had responded to that afternoon. Something about the end of the world clearly knocked her off her rocker, but amidst all the chaos in LA (and the world, by all acounts) this week, James doubted it'd be a high priority.

A notification sound rang on James' laptop. He pulled up the e-mail that was sent and was at first relieved that it came from Grace's school. That relief was quickly extinguished when he saw that it was merely her class schedule. But maybe he could work from there.

A quick look at Google News had the world-wide announcement of the oncoming apocalypse broadcast at 5PM Pacific Standard Time. When James reconciled that with his sister's schedule, he saw that she was (or should have been) in class that day. Geoscience 102 with Professor Corrander. A five-minute search on the UCLA website got him a work number.

_You have reached the office of Professor Brendan Corrander of the Department of Earth, Planetary, and Spaaaaaace Sciences at UCLA. I am unable to come to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the tone and I will get back to you as soon as possible. My visiting hours are -_

Well that just wouldn't do, would it?

James put in a call to the station. When he reached dispatch, he was able to get an address for Corrander's home. Stifling a yawn, James made his way to his civilian cat and turned the ignition. Corrander may have a bead on Grace's actions that night, and that's not something he wanted to leave in the fate of a voicemail.

* * *

Brendan's week had progressively been getting worse. The girl, Grace Garcia as evidenced by her ID, ran off in the night of Day One. This was certainly not good. If word got out that he, a professor, had partaken in carnal relations with a student, his reputation would be ruined.

He hadn't gone to work in the last few days. The thought of being shamed and ridiculed by staff and student alike kept him confined to his home. A wretched mix of coffee and tequila in one hand, and a lit cigarette in another, Brendan sat slothlike in his bed, watching the news half-heartedly. Apparently some movie star was dead, and they were looking for his girlfriend as a suspect of murder. Sightings of a woman similar to the girlfriend had been seen about a mile from where he lived; she was apparently seen at a pharmacy, dressed in a bloodied white dress. A potentially bloodthirsty starlet certainly didn't help Brendan's newfound agoraphobia.

The news turned to the events of the Sunset Strip riot yesterday when there was a knock on Brendan's front door.

Fuck, thought Brendan. Who the fuck would come to my house at this hour?

He grabbed the now-empty tequila bottle on his nightstand and cautiously approached the door. He peered through the peephole and saw a young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, standing there in a plain black v-neck and jeans. "Who is it?" Brendan asked.

"Mr. Corrander," the man responded, "my name is James Garcia. My sister Grace is in one of your Geoscience classes at UCLA. I was just wondering if you could help me with some information in tracking her down."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck shit. "Um, sure."

Brendan unlocked the deadbolt and door lock and cracked the door open, just enough to show his full head to the man.

"How can I help you?"

"Grace Garcia. She's in your 4:45 Geosciences class." The man... James pulled out his cellphone, which had a picture of her in the background. "Do you recognize her?"

Brendan nodded mindlessly. "Yes, yes. Grace Garcia. Yeah. Good student. Bright. Really good at bed. Rock beds. You know. Geoscience. Earth stuff." He waved his arm hopelessly. "You know how it is."

James' eyes narrowed. "Right. Sir, have you been drinking?"

He paled. "Yes. No. Maybe? I don't know." Brendan cursed himself mentally. "Can you repeat that question?"

The man sighed, and pushed the door open.

"Hey man, what gives?"

"What gives?! You're clearly drunk, made a snide comment about my sister, and I'm NOT in a good mood."

Brendan's face flushed with fury. "It's the end of the fucking world man, chill out. Motherfucker can't drink away his sorrows? And now you're trespassing. I will have to ask you to peeve the lemises... peeve... LEAVE the premises or I will call the cops."

Ha. That'll show Douchebag McQueen.

James pulled out his badge. "I'M the police, sir." He surveyed the wrecked apartment, and stopped at the couch.

"Whose purse is that?"

A pause.

"Look man, I don't know what happened."  
" _Whose purse is that?_ "  
"It was the end of the world, Grace and I had a few drinks I think"  
"You gave my teenage sister ALCOHOL?!"  
"One thing led to another and I woke up and she was naked but-"  
"YOU SLEPT WITH MY SISTER?!"  
"I don't know man, chill out, look she-"  
"WHERE. IS. SHE."  
"Dude, I don't know! I kept trying to give her drinks-"  
"You tried to get her drunk again?!"  
"Fuck dude, I mean like water and shit but she resisted-"

James, red with fury, muttered, "Fuck this shit," and pulled his revolver.


	5. Five Days After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day with the girls.

Charlize couldn't figure out if the apocalypse had changed her for the better, or if she had always been this way.

That night, when the news announced that everything was ending, she remembered her whole world shattering. Imagining Jackson being unable to grow up, find love, learn and hopefully create in the way that she and Sean did for the world was unbearable. Her perfect little boy would remain that, a boy. But if that were the case, at least it would be peaceful.

Some alcohol and sleeping pills later, Sean had come home in a drunken stupor. When he had seen what she'd done, he forced himself onto her. At that point though, Charlize realized, she had strangely found a taste for killing. It aroused her. So when that old fuck found himself finished, she decided it was better for the last few hours of the world if Sean Penn wasn't a member of the Living Club.

That next morning, awakening to a dress covered in blood spatter, Charlize felt at peace. Heaven, she had decided, was a bit too much like the Earth she knew. Even down to the deceased actor on her doorstep. God did a nice job on decorum here. So Charlize decided to get her best shoes on and go find her son. He was so young, he must've gotten in, right?

By Day 2 she had realized that the world hadn't ended. But that's okay too, right? Jackson would've only gotten tainted over time, being exposed to scum like Sean. And it was the taint that she smelled everywhere, following her around as she wandered the city.

She had cleansed five more souls by the time she had met Grace. So innocent, so naive. So blatantly abused by scum like Sean. It was heartbreaking. But she had taken Grace under her wing. After mimosas, they had gotten Plan B at another pharmacy nearby. Charlize personally got some hair dye, groceries and unmentionables for the two. They needed to lay low. The two had found an empty abandoned apartment near the Sunset Strip and hid out.

It was Day 5 now, and Grace had all but opened up about her life. During the riots she spoke of her brother James, who was a cop. Her mother Judy, the woman with the iron heart and sharp mouth. Her father, the oft-gone breadwinner, away on business trips for months at a time. Charlize as Anna spoke of life as an orphan, going family to family. It was a great exercise in improv, and Anna flourished as a character.

But the time for improv was over. Charlize had work to do. And there were loose, slime-infested threads that needed taking care of.

"Grace darling," Anna inquired that morning. "Where does Mr. Corrander live?"

Grace looked up from her breakfast, a curious expression on her face. "Why do you ask?"

Poor, innocent Grace. "Well honey, it'd be nice if someone were to be able to check in him. See if he's okay. Make sure he's not taking advantage of other innocent teenagers."

The girl shuddered. "That would be horrible! But I don't think he'd do something like that. He's not that bad of a person." She blushed a little and looked back down. "He had always been nice to me."

"Being nice doesn't a good person make, Grace." Anna tutted. "He drugged you-"

"POSSIBLY"

"Possibly drugged you," amended Anna, "and had sex with you. I don't care what you feel about him, he isn't a good person. He may seem like it, but you know what they say: Man is the root of all evil."

"Who says that?" asked Grace.

"People." Anna cocked her head to the side. "Don't worry, I'm just a girl like you. I'm not going to DO anything to him. Just..." she pondered a moment.

"Just talk to him?" Grace suggested?

Clever girl. "Yes, Grace. A stern talking is what he needs. Now tell me where he lives."

"O... okay." Grace stepped towards the window. You could still see smoldering cats from a few nights earlier. "He's in an apartment complex off of Santa Monica and South Barrington. I didn't get a good look at the apartment number, but it's a second floor balcony looking towards Santa Monica."

Oh Grace. Smart, beautiful Grace. Anna leaned over and gave her a hug.

"You're the best, Grace."

"Thanks, Anna. Oh my God, I-" Grace stopped herself.

"What's wrong Grace?" Anna looked concerned.

"It's nothing. I just... you look a lot like this lady I saw in a movie once."

Oh Grace. Smart, beautiful Grace. "Well, that's a coincidence if I've ever heard of one. Obviously if I was a movie star, I wouldn't be in a place like this!" Anna laughed heartily.

Grace thought about it and nodded. "Yeah, that's pretty sensible."

Charlize continued to smile as a brilliant idea came to fruition. "You know what?" she asked. "How about we just stay in today."

She stood up and walked to the refrigerator. "Have you ever made omelettes before?" Charlize grabbed some eggs, cheese, and onions and put them out on the counter.

"No," replied Grace. "I've always been interested though. I love cooking."

"I'm GREAT at making omelettes. I could show you how." Charlize reached into the drawer and pulled out a bowl, whisk, and knife.

"Awesome! Thanks, Anna. It feels good to just be...  _normal_  for a bit." Grace smiled and walked to join her friend.

Oh Grace. Smart, beautiful Grace. She would've only gotten tainted over time.


	6. Six Days After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family friend makes a tough visit.

Things had gone from bad to worse by the time Andrew was released from the hospital.

His partner James was off the reservation. He had been placed on leave after the riots. He called into the station to inquire on some Professor at UCLA. Turns out he was James' sister's teacher. The patrol cat that took that Priority 3 found a cadaver riddled with bullets. The week had apparently been too much for the guy. Ballistics matched bullets at the scene to James' service revolver.

Worse, a noise disturbance call over on Sunset Strip brought more grim news to the Garcias. Grace had been found. Multiple stab wounds and evidence that she had been housing with Charlize Theron. Things couldn't be any worse for the family.

And straight out of the hospital, Andrew was the one tasked with calling the parents.

Judy and Francisco (Frank for short) Garcia were really close friends by now. They deserved more than a call. So he made the drive to Long Beach to see them in person. It was probably the longest hour of his life.

The Garcias lived in a nice one-story house, especially for Long Beach. He had been there a few times. Thanksgiving. The occasional party. Judy and Frank treated Andrew like family, which was something he never really had before. He wondered how the two deserved any of this news. As he knocked on their door, he decided they did not.

The door opened and Frank peeked out tentatively. "Oh Andrew, thank God." Frank exhaled in relief.

The patriarch of the Garcias stepped out and gave Andrew a bear hug. "I've been watching the news all week. I'm so glad you're okay." Frank glanced past Andrew's shoulder onto the pathway leading to the house.

"Where's James?"

Andrew braced himself. "We can talk about that inside. May I come in?"

A pause. "Sure, sure. Of course. Here."

With a step to the side, Frank allowed his son's friend into the house. It smelled strongly of lemon scent, and the place was a wreck.

"I apologize for the mess," Frank said as the two walked into the living room. "Things got kinda crazy with the looting and all the day of."

Andrew nodded, too afraid to open his mouth for fear of death by Pinesol. He sat down on the recliner adjacent the couch and table, opposite the entertainment center. Reflexively, he remembered sneaking Grace a sip of his beer while her brother sat engrossed with Frank over the Raiders game. It hurt to remember.

"Something to drink? I've got water and Pepsi in the fridge, or some whiskey if you're into something stronger."

_So kind. And here I am to break his heart._  Andrew emptily responded for some water. Frank left the room.

As Andrew adjusted to the disheveled surroundings of the house and the ridiculous smell, his police sense started kicking in. A lot of the room was knocked over, pictures astray on the floor, dishes shattered near the backyard entry. No sign of any electronics being stolen, judging by the huge TV still highlighting the entertainment center. Possibly too big to steal?

Frank had returned with water and a whiskey. He passed the glass over to Andrew, who took it with a word of thanks. As Frank sat down, Andrew took a sip and started.

"Frank, I have some bad news. Is... is Judy here?"

Frank blinked for a beat and responded, "Oh, she's around here somewhere. Keeping busy I suppose. I'm sure she'll come around." He shifted his sitting position. "What's the bad news?"

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Andrew resolved to start with the really bad news. "Sir, I'm absolutely devastated to inform you that Grace is dead." Dead silent. "We found her in an apartment complex over near Sunset Strip. She was stabbed to death by an unknown assailant." Great, because lying a little will definitely help. "We uh, Frank, could you please get Judy in here? I don't feel right only informing one of you of this."

But Frank was too distraught to even comprehend the request. His face was buried deep in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs. "My little girl," he wailed. "Not Grace, anyone but Grace."

Andrew quickly went over to the man and gave him a one-armed hug. "Frank, I'm really sorry. I know this is hard. I loved her too. Your family has been nothing but good to me and I thought you deserved more than a phone call." Fuck, this was harder than he ever imagined. The drive here was like a massage in comparison.

Trying not to be overcome with emotion himself, Andrew took a deep breath to gather himself... and smelled an acrid, horrifyingly familiar stench underneath the overpowering lemon scent of the house.

"Frank." This time, almost a command. "Where is Judy?"

Francisco continued to cry, although his face was no longer buried in his palms. "You're lying," he murmured.

"What?"

"YOU'RE LYING!" screamed the grieving father, standing up with a surprising torrent of speed. "This is just... some sick joke, isn't it?"

"Frank, I assure you I would never jo-"

"If it's true, it'd be on TV wouldn't it?!" Frank grabbed the remote and furiously hit the power button repeatedly, unsatisfied with the speed at which the television was turning on.

"This can't be real. Losing Judy and now Grace? I don't deserve this!" yelled Frank, throwing the remote at the TV, cracking the screen. The display of anger frightened Andrew, but not nearly as much as what he had heard.

"...what happened to Judy, Frank?"

The man froze, realizing what he had just said. Then he sank to his knees and started crying again.

"It's all my fault," he sobbed. "I was out of town. Business, you know? And Judy... you know she's always been a God-fearing girl. I wasn't there when they announced it. I couldn't. I called her and told her I loved her-"

Frank wailed some more.

"She... she thought she'd be sent to hell," he whispered. "I was on the phone with her and then-"

"Where, Frank?"

A sniffle. "In the kitchen."

As Andrew turned to walk in that direction, completely in police mode by now, Frank's voice stopped him.

"Don't tell James," he said. "I haven't had the heart... I spoke to him a few times, but I couldn't. I've been texting him on her phone the past two days. He loved her. This would kill him."

Andrew nodded, and made his way to the kitchen as the televison finally found itself on, displaying the local news.

When Andrew looked down at the body of his friend's mother, gun in hand and surrounded by a pool of blood, he heard Frank again from the living room.

"Andrew, why is my son on TV?"


	7. Seven Days After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's about time.

James had come to the end of the trail. After finding the cordoned-off crime scene on the Strip, it didn't take long for the rogue cop to connect the dots. This was all that mad starlet. It had her smug name written all over it. The stab wounds were similar to what he had seen at the Theron estate, and the chatter he heard on his hand radio confirmed that there had been multiple stabbings in a rough progressive line towards the coast. James pulled out his sharpie and circled the area where Theron would more than likely pop her head up next. The idiot professor's apartment fell in the circle.

Maybe the celebrity had taken a liking towards Grace. It wouldn't be surprising. Grace had always had a way with people. Could it be that Charlize was on some demented path of justice?

Sean Penn was not the friendliest of people. Neither had, from what little James gleaned on the police band, the other victims possibly attributed to Ms. Theron.

The sound of sirens alerted James that he was standing out in the open. He quickly ran into a nearby alley and ducked behind a dumpster. He heard the sound of passing patrol cats, speeding pretty damned quick. The media had caught wind that Corrander was killed by a cop, and with that out in the open, the LAPD was forced to name James as a fugitive. He'd have to be more careful from now on.

But that justice... James stroked his chin. It made a weird kind of sense, if you thought about it like a psychopath. Charlize's mom had killed her husband, who was abusive and an alcoholic. It was justified. She faced no charges.

Why wouldn't young Charlize Theron embrace that ideal?

James nodded. That had to be it. And if the story Brendan Corrander, the obvious alcoholic and womanizer was true, then it's not surprising that Ms. Theron would be out for his blood too.

If he weren't already dead, that is.

But a lead is a lead, and this might be the only chance James would get to avenge his sister and get answers. He wasn't a fool. The first 24-48 hours in situations like this were crucial.

His resolve solidified. He'd find her tonight. He'd ask her why innocents like her son Jackson and his sister Grace were taken away.

And then he'd shoot her.

* * *

Look at them, Charlize thought. These slimeballs were mourning a demon.

She stood across the street from Brendan Corrander's apartment complex in a red hoodie and jeans, astonished and disgusted at the sight of so many people paying respects to HIM. That mucus-filled maggot that defiled her Grace. They had the audacity to bring children, innocent children, to this cesspool of sin. It was sickening.

James Garcia got it right, she thought. She had seen the news on one of the TV displays at a pawn shop. He went in and served righteous justice to that defiler of women, that drunkard asshole. She beamed at the sight of a proper older brother, who was clearly on the same path as her. She knew then that James was her kin, brother-and-sister-in-arms against the evil that the false apocalypse had revealed. This was humankind's true nature. Vile and disgusting. And they, she thought, were the only ones willing to get on their knees and start scrubbing.

She knew he would be there tonight. Destiny had made it so. Because this is where it all started, Charlize told herself. The events in that apartment are what started all the pawns on this path.

So Charlize gripped the knife inside her hoodie's front pocket and walked towards the devil's shrine. Calmly and confidently, she wove through the crowd to the man standing next to Mr. Corrander's picture, pulled out her knife, and stabbed him through the gut.

* * *

The Garcia household had been taped off aside from the living room, where Frank was grieving and coming to grips with the situation James now found himself in. A murderer of the innocent. A rogue cop on the run. Not to mention being in the worst area of Los Angeles, a week into an apocalypse never come, where there were clearly no angels left.

The local news was running a story on possible gang involvement being the key to the Sunset Strip Riots when the anchorman halted mid-sentence.

*"We apologize to Miriam for interrupting you, but we have breaking news in Los Angeles, at the candlelight vigil for UCLA Professor Brendan Corrander. Reports are coming in that Hollywood starlet turned possible serial killer Charlize Theron has appeared at the vigil, stabbed an onlooker, and is currently holding a child hostage. Coleen Sullivan is on the scene."

All the officers, Andrew, and Frank went instantaneously mute as the reporter described the scene.

"Thanks Marc, behind me is the apartment where Brendan Corrander was shot and killed in cold blood by police officer James Garcia of the LAPD. A woman suspected to be Ms. Theron is holding hostage a child, and demanding her brother-in-arms reveal himself." She gestured behind her. "As you can see, we are across the street from the scene by request of the hostagetaker and law enforcement officials, so we cannot get clear audio on exactly what she's saying." The camera zoomed in on a figure to the left of the hostage situation, sneaking slowly with gun drawn

The reporter stopped at the sound of a low murmur, presumably from the cameraman.

"We're zooming in on a man, from the police force maybe, sneaking towards Ms. Theron. She does not seem to have noticed, and the man is in plain clothes, but..."

Andrew, through years of patrolling, and Frank, through years of parenting, knew immediately who they were looking at. They turned to each other.

"James."

* * *

Crouched, James stalked his way towards his sister's killer, revolver in hand. She had shown up, of course. His instincts were on the money there. But the child as a hostage... that just amplified the questions he needed to ask her. When he was within a few yards, he raised his gun, finger off the trigger, cocked and ready.

"Ms. Theron, put the knife down and let the kid go."

The woman in the hoodie turned, and put on a wide grin.

"James Garcia, there you are. I knew you'd come. Grace has told me so much about you. You're pretty cute too, if I do say so myself."

Hand steady, James stood his ground and attempted to not let his voice betray his pain. "Grace is dead. You killed her."

Charlize cocked her head. "Brendan Corrander is dead. You killed him. We both made the world a better place."

A better place? He shook his head. "Killing Grace didn't make the world a better place. You've dimmed so many lives by taking her-"

"She would've been tainted!" Ms. Theron screeched, knife-hand shaking across the little girl's neck. "She was innocent, smart, and beautiful. She would have become so much less if I didn't give her peace. It had already started. The pedophile you killed was the first blow. I had to save her. You had to punish him. It's what God wanted for us."

* * *

The people inhabiting the Garcia household watched the news without blinking. They were leaned in, trying to capture every detail of the stand-off.

"I can't hear a thing," whispered Frank.

"Neither can I," muttered Andrew.

They continued watching.

* * *

"Angels and demons? Really? Is that what we are?" James let out a quick bark of a laugh. It wasn't funny. "This isn't some celestial battle of good versus evil. It's just the world. It's a fucked up place, with fucked up people like you and everyone else out there doing what they think is right."

"How can you be so BLIND, James?!" Charlize looked incredulous. "You heard it. We ALL heard it. One week ago, the world was going to end. And it did. We were all just too stupid to figure it out."

She spit on the ground, disgusted. "Look at human nature. What happened that night? Murder. Rape. Burglary. Sin. The planet may still turn, but the world that we knew is over. And now that everyone has shown their cards, it's time to up the ante." A smirk. "You know what they say, the only way to win is to know what's in every hand."

"...who says that?"

"People," she replied.

"So what, you're going to kill that girl too?"

"She's perfect right now. It'd be a shame to let her become human."

And she took the knife and slit the child's throat.

* * *

It happened quicker than anyone expected. One moment the two were talking, the next the child was on the ground and a gunshot was heard. The local news quickly switched back to the the anchor team, who were equally in shock of the events they had witnessed.

A cop who was watching in the kitchen had puked. Another, sitting on the edge of the couch, had instinctively covered his eyes. Frank's hands were on his ears, wishing he could unhear that inhuman scream. Andrew simply placed a hand on his mouth, unable to speak, to comprehend what had happened.

Frank turned to Andrew. "Is it over?"

They turned back to the screen. The camera had switched back to the scene of the crime, focusing only on James. His revolver on the ground, he was willingly kneeling on the ground with his hands on his head.

"Yeah, Frank. I think it's over."


	8. Meanwhile...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What else happened that week?

**Three Days After.**

The apocalypse, Frank decided, was absurdly good for business.

The Sinaloa Cartel discovered very quickly that riots made for easy distractions for drug trafficking. The cops were too busy trying to quell the disorganized chaos to even register the small blip that was organized crime.

And so it was shortly after the apocalypse failed that leadership had appoint Francisco, a loyal if unspectacular lieutenant in Los Angeles to bring about one of the biggest drug trades ever to be seen on the West Coast.

Or, if Frank played his cards right, that would never be seen.

Flying back into California, Frank pulled out his second pokédex and accessed the chat server the Cartel used to communicate on the Deep Web.

"We need a distraction tonight," Frank typed. There was no need to ID himself; everyone in the room knew who the other was.

2: "Trade?"  
1: "Yes. We will be able to retire in 24 hours if it goes through."  
2: "My contact in Hollywood is dead. Stabbed by his bitch I think. We need something else."  
3: "We could instigate a riot. I tested the waters yesterday. Should be easy to do."  
1: "Make it happen. Most convenient spot would be near Sunset Strip. Communicate to all members."  
3: "One more thing. Taps in residence suggest the +1 may be on to you."  
1: "Unfortunate. Get a cleaner there. Suicide would be nice."  
2: "Full clean?"  
1: "Too risky. Leave the body. I have an alibi."

Frank powered off the phone. Nothing else needed to be said. He looked up, and saw a flight attendant.

"Excuse me miss, can I get another pillow?" She handed one to him.

He smiled. "Thanks doll."

* * *

**Five Days After.**

James, purse hidden in his jacket, had lost the trail.

With the assumption of rape, the first place he could see his sister going is somewhere with the morning-after pill. Nearly all the pharmacies in the area hadn't recognized the photo of Grace, but to be fair, they had serviced literally hundreds of women who had made mistakes the night of. He had but two more spots to check out when he came upon an anomaly.

The gentleman at the counter, wearing one of those weird hats, yamaka was it? was talking about some bloodied woman.

The policeman in James got the better of him and he approached.

"Hi, James Garcia, LAPD. You were talking about a woman in blood?"

The associate at the register nodded. "Yes. Blood woman. Very pretty. Smell bad though, yes?" The broken English was grating, but it couldn't be worse than his mother's. James started mentally taking notes.

"How tall was she?"

"Ah. Say, this." The man raised his hand to a little shorter than James' himself. So about 5'10".

"Hair color?"

"Yellow. Yes. Very pretty. Movie star, huh."

The sentence caught James by the throat.

"Did you say movie star?" James pulled out his phone and started swiping the screen.

"Yes. So pretty. Good face, huh?"

James had pulled up a picture that he had seen dozens of times in the past few days. The first result for "Charlize Theron" in Google Images.

"Is this her?"

"Ah yes. Pretty girl. Good name, ha nah."

"Her name is Charlize Theron."

"No, ha nah. Name."

"Yes, her name is Charlize Theron."

"No, HAN NAH." The man leaned over conspiratorially. "What is English, grace?"

A sinking sensation fell over James' stomach. He pulled up another picture.

"Have you seen HER?"

"Ah yes. With beautiful lady."

Priority 2, we have a noise complaint over on the Sunset Strip, sound of teenage girl possibly screaming. Per HQ order, any Sunset Strip calls are upgraded to at least Priority 2. Any squadcars in the area, please report if able to..."

* * *

**Four Days After.**

Anna was nice. Weird, but nice. Something about her made Grace comfortable, which was a big change from anything she had been used to. Don't get her wrong, Grace loved her family. But sometimes they were a bit... overbearing. Being in the apartment with Anna was very calm, despite the chaos that went on in the streets that night.

For the first time in forever, Grace didn't feel bothered to check the news, or get on the internet. There was food, alcohol, and good company. What else does a girl need?

While she was reading a book at about noon, Anna approached her. "Don't you think you should at least TRY to reach out to your family?"

Grace had been expecting this. The family talk was a night before, and Grace had poured out her soul about her family. But that was a very ideal story to tell. It wasn't often reality.

"No, I think I'll wait it out a bit. Freedom is bliss, so they say."

"Who says that?"

"People," Grace said with a grin. "I've told you about my family, and I love them. But they're all, in their own way, kinda overbearing. Frank... my dad, I mean he's barely around due to his job. But when he's in the house, it's like everything he says is law. He more often than not misses my birthdays, all the big events in my life, he's never been there. Yet..."

Anna nodded. "He's a  _father_."

A roll of the eyes. "Exactly. And my mother, well, she's super-religious. Reads from the Bible at least 2 hours a day, no exaggeration. If I call her now, she'll probably damn me to the fourth circle of hell. Or something. Not too big on literature."

Anna stared at Grace, as if judging her resolve. Finally her eyes softened. "And your brother?"

"James?" Grace thought about it. "That is a bit harder. I love James to death. But I feel like, you know, he's probably more of a father than Frank is. Hell, I call my dad by his first name."

Grace exhaled in mild amusement. "I mean there was one time for Thanksgiving dinner. We were watching the Raiders game at my parents' place. And like, they knew I had no intention of driving home. I was sleeping in my old room, I TOLD them as much and I wasn't allowed to drink. My brother wouldn't let me drink in my own house. It was Andrew, my brother's partner-cop-guy, that let me take a sip of beer."

She shook her head. "I don't need that right now. I've been feeling lately like what I need more than anything else, is a non-judgemental big sister." Grace looked up at Anna.

"And I know it's kinda weird, but that's the first thing I thought of when I saw you at the pharmacy the other day."

Anna glowed. "I'm glad you think that. I hate to say it, but I've become quite attached to you, Grace darling." She leaned in to give a hug.

"And I promise, I will never judge you. I think you're perfect just the way you are."


	9. Epilogue: One Year After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend comes to visit.

The woman on the other side of the bulletproof glass handed Andrew's identification back when he finished signing the paperwork.

"Okay Mr. Keforis, the officer at the door will let you in and direct you to the visiting room."

Andrew nodded a thanks and found his way through the halls of the prison.

He sat there, staring at the thick glass and concrete walls for two minutes before a buzz alerted him to the door on his left. Clad in orange, James shuffled in, hands chained together. He sat down across from his ex-partner, and reached for the phone. Andrew did the same.

"Andrew."

"James."

"So what's going on?"

"It's the same deal, man. People are stupid, and easy to forgive." Andrew shook his head. "They're giving CT a slide on the In Memoriam piece of the Oscars."

"Yeah, I saw on TV. What did the Academy say? Something about how her acting..."

The officer sighed. "Ms. Theron's acting ability and grace on the silver screen should be judged independently of her actions off the screen."

"I simply don't understand it, man." James rubbed his now grizzled facial hair. "How do fuckers like this get away with it?"

"It's not new. Look at Woody Allen. Michael Jordan." Andrew let a smirk show on his face. "Fuck, look at Sean Penn."

"I did once. Still regret it. When did you get so knowledgeable on celebrities?"

A pause.

James grinned. "God, are you reading gossip mags?"

"They've got some well-written articles," Andrew replied.

"Any word from Frank?"

"You know the answer to this one. It's still a no." Shortly after James was arrested, Frank had seemingly disappeared off the face of the Earth. A few days after that, CSI had confirmed that Judy's death was not a suicide. That mystery had still not been solved, and probably never would. James' grin faded quickly, and Andrew thought he could see a glimpse of anger. It was that glint that suddenly made Andrew broach a subject he promised himself he would never touch.

"Do you regret it?" he asked.

Without even batting an eye, "Yes."

Tears started flowing down his eyes. "I don't know what I was thinking, man. It was a stupid mistake. I add it all up in my head, every night. The lack of sleep. The worry for Grace. All the stress from the riots and the Penn case. Knowing that CT was with Grace for at least 3 days..." James trailed off.

He sat in silence for a while. Andrew respectfully said nothing.

"I think," James said, "I think maybe it was all some divine punishment. Like somewhere, God decided he was going to take apart my house, brick by brick. Grace, mom, even Frank to a certain extent." Another pause. "You as well. You were like a brother to me. I hope you know that. And now?"

James gestured grandly.

"This is my everything."

Andrew felt a nudge against his shoulder. The prison officer was indicating time was up. Andrew took to his feet, as did James. Andrew placed his hand against the glass. James did the same.

"Hey man, it could be worse. Life in prison, all things considered, is pretty okay." One last grin as Andrew thought of a joke sure to make his once-friend laugh."

"At least the world didn't end." Andrew hung up the phone and walked out of the room.

James' eyes glossed over, as he remembered a conversation he had partaken it just about a year ago.

"Maybe it did, and we were just too stupid to figure it out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The original plan was for 7 short standalone vignettes outlining different aspects and consequences of the last day in Earth. It was only when writing Two Days After that I thought, "maybe the girl at the pharmacy is the girl from Day One". The rough outline of the stories to come changed when I decided to run with the idea.
> 
> 2\. The celebrity character is a carry-over from the original vignettes plan. I wanted to explore the idea of fame in a time when that kind of thing doesn't matter.
> 
> 3\. Charlize's character was developed before Grace's. I was looking for a celebrity that lived in LA to use and upon reading her wiki entry, found some interesting facts about her that I wanted to parallel. It helped that following in her mother's footsteps meant I got to kill Sean Penn.
> 
> 4\. I chose the name Anna because that was her named role in A Million Ways to Die in the West. A quick Google search led me to the discovery that the name means Grace in Hebrew. This inspired me to name the girl Grace and, incidentally, seal her ultimate fate by the end.
> 
> 5\. Andrew's last name, revealed in the epilogue, is a bastardization of the word for "Outsider" in some other language (this was written months ago, and I have since forgotten. It was chosen because he's the one explored character that doesn't really do anything inherently wrong throughout the story.
> 
> 6\. The Day One post is heavily inspired by Arthur Dent's intro in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. The idea of a guy seeing but not OBSERVING what is going on around him appealed to me greatly. It also is probably why that first post is the most humorous of the bunch.
> 
> 7\. The supplemental pieces describe events that I knew were happening aside from the main narrative, but couldn't incorporate due to wanting to stay with one perspective until Day 7. It was going to be part of the epilogue until it ran too long.
> 
> 8\. The epilogue was originally going to end with a The Day Of piece, consisting only of the broadcast announcing the end of the world. This was cut for two reasons. One, I couldn't find a world-ending event that would make sense in the context of the story. Two, by the time I wrote James' last line I felt it was a better end.
> 
> 9\. The aftermath of the final confrontation has a cop, Frank, and Andrew replicating the phrase, "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil." In addition, Corrander says the opening lines to the Malcolm in the Middle theme song when being interrogated by James.


End file.
